By:
Treva
Davis
W390
S3210 Hwy Z
Word
Count 4,437
The
Threat
Although it had been a warm September day, Dad
wrapped me in a blanket. “There,” he said, “snug as a bug in
a rug.” Then he scooped me up and carried me out of the
house.
“Is
this the doctor’s car?” I asked, as Dad placed me in the
back seat. I don’t want to be in the doctor’s car. I only
like places I know.
“No,
Tee,” Mom said, “It’s our car.” She was in the front seat.
“Are we going to Dr. Ben’s office? It’s dark out.”
“No,
we’re going to the hospital, because you’re very sick.”
I’d
been throwing up all day. I felt hot all over. My neck and
back hurt. My eyes were sore and my head hurt, like it was
too big. Even though it was nighttime, Dr. Ben came to see
me in my bed. He listened to my heart, looked down my throat
and thump-thumped on my tummy. Then he put his hand on the
back of my head and pushed me forward to touch my forehead
to my knees. I couldn’t do it and my knees popped up to my
nose all by their-selves.
“Owwww,
it hurts!” I cried.
Dr.
Ben turned to my parents. “Did you see when I pushed Tee’s
head forward ¾
that her knees came up involuntarily? That’s a positive
Brudzinski response. I want her in
At
the hospital a nurse took me to a big room and put me on a
cold, hard table. Big bright lights shined on me and made my
sore eyes all squinty. I could see only the people’s eyes
‘cause they had on masks.
I
don’t like it here. Nobody talks nice to me. Where’s Mommy
and Daddy?
A
man with a white coat and a mask on his face held a huge
glass tube with a big needle sticking out. That looks
like the thing Dr. Ben gives me shots with, but that one’s
much bigger. The man started walking toward me, but a
nurse turned me on my left side so I couldn’t see the big
needle any more. Then she leaned hard on my legs.
Why
are you leaning on my legs so hard? It hurts!
Why
aren’t they nice to me? They’re nice at Dr. Ben’s office.
I’m scared.
Suddenly
I felt a sharp, burning-hot pain in my right thigh. I
screamed and the nurse leaned on my legs harder.
You’re
mashing my legs. It hurts. I don’t want the big shot.
“Yaaah!
I
wailed and wailed, louder and louder and the nurse leaned
and leaned, harder and harder.
“Mommy,
it hurts! Daddy, make them stop!”
The
hurting went on forever. Finally, it stopped and the nurse
got off my legs.
My
hip aches, where I got the big shot. My leg feels numb,
like it’s asleep.
The
nurse picked me up, carried me down a long dark hall and put
me in a crib.
I’m
a big girl. I have a big-girl bed. I don’t need a baby
bed. I’m so sleepy . . ..
[At age four I didn’t realize the danger I was in. In
1947 there was no cure for poliomyelitis, also called
infantile paralysis because it struck mostly children.
However, Dr. Ben (Benjamin Rappaport) received my parents’
permission to treat me with an experimental thermal
poliomyelitis streptococcal antibody vaccine developed by
Dr. E. (Edward) C. Rosenow. The injection I received, in the
side of my upper right thigh, contained 40 cc of vaccine (a
large dose - 1.35 oz). Dr. Ben, who I didn’t recognize
because of his coat and mask, was the man wielding the huge
syringe.
I
also received a spinal tap that measured a “spinal fluid
cell count” of 447, a record high, as reported by Dr. Ben in
the 1947 Quarterly Bulletin of Northwestern University
Medical School in association with
In
October 1948 Dr. Benjamin Rappaport was reported in the
Journal-Lancet (68:395-7) as having administered the first
successful prophylactic polio vaccine. He administered 10 cc
of thermal antibody to 30 people who had known contact with
26 of his polio patients. None of the vaccine recipients
developed poliomyelitis. However, it is Dr. Jonas Salk and
Dr. Albert Sabin who are known for eradicating polio. Dr.
Salk, who was financed by the March of Dimes, developed an
injectable vaccine in 1955 using killed poliovirus.
Unfortunately, a bad batch of vaccine sickened, paralyzed
and killed some children, so inoculations were temporarily
halted. In 1961 Dr. Sabin developed a preferred oral vaccine
using live attenuated (nearly killed) poliovirus, which is
still being administered today.
The
March of Dimes was a campaign to raise funds for polio
research directed by Basil O’Connor on behalf of his friend,
President Franklin D. Roosevelt. President Roosevelt was
believed to have contracted polio, but more likely had
Guillain-Barrè Syndrome, which results in paralysis similar
to that caused by polio.]
When
I woke up I couldn’t find Teddy, my teddy bear. But I did
find Larry, my white llama. Larry had silly ears. They were
made of green felt. Everybody knows llama’s ears aren’t
green.
Where’s Teddy? I always sleep
with Teddy. I need to pet his fur when I suck my thumb.
Larry’s not soft ( he’s wooly.
I looked around my room. It was little, as wide as my
crib, only. Two walls were kinda funny ‘cause they went only
halfway up. The top of the wall was a glass window up to the
ceiling. I could see the two rooms across the hall and the
room next door.
There was one outside window
too, but all I could see was a brick wall.
I never saw a room with glass
walls.
I sat up in my crib to see
better.
I saw
a glass room across the hall with a big girl in a big bed.
She was lying down with her eyes closed and the covers
pulled up.
I think she doesn’t feel good.
A lady was sitting on a hard chair next to her bed. I think that’s her mom, ‘cause she’s holding the big girl’s hand and her forehead is all wrinkly like she’s worried.
In the
glass room, next to the big girl, was a big boy in a big
bed. He was lying down with his eyes closed, but no one was
holding his hand.
He must not feel good too.
Where’s his mommy? I bet he’s lonesome.
I grabbed the bars of my crib
and pulled myself up.
My leg hurts.
I looked through the window at the end of my crib.
Hey, there’s a little boy
in a crib like mine. He’s eating a pork chop, mashed
potatoes and peas. Ick, I hate peas. Why is he eating
dinner? It’s morning!
I scooched down in my crib real fast, before he saw me.
I want my
Puffed Wheat. “Mommy? Mommy!”
A nurse came
real fast down the hall. I could see her through the
windows.
“Are you hungry, Tee?” she asked.
How does she
know my name?
“Uh-huh. Where’s my mommy?”
“Your mommy’s at home. You’re in the hospital because
you’re sick. We’ll take good care of you so you can get well
and go home.”
“I wanna go home. I want my mommy. I want Teddy.”
“I’ll get you something to eat. Then you’ll feel
better.”
She left in
such a big hurry I could feel the wind she made.
The nurse came
back pretty quick. She fed me some milk in a little cup. She
wouldn’t let me hold it.
I’m a big
girl. I can feed myself.
Then she
scooped up a gooey egg on a spoon and held it to my lips. I
turned my head.
“Mommy makes my
eggs with no gushy part.”
“Just try a
little,” the nurse cajoled.
“I don’t like
icky eggs!”
“Just try some.
It will help you get well.”
“Nooooo!”
The more she
coaxed, the louder I cried. Through my tears I saw a doctor
walking fast down the hall to my room.
“Is everything
all right here? I heard this loud crying and thought . . .,”
he trailed off as he took in the scene.
“She just
doesn’t want to eat her egg,” said the nurse.
“You eat that
egg, now,” he snapped. “It will help you get well.”
“Waaah!” I
wailed, ‘til she finally stopped pushing the slimy egg up to
my mouth. I grabbed Larry, hugged him tight and snuffled off
to sleep.
Pow Puff
The next
morning Daddy came to see me.
“Hi, Tee,” said
Daddy. “I thought I’d come to see you before I go to work.
How do you feel?”
“I’m not
throwing up any more, Daddy. Where’s Teddy?”
“I’m glad
you’re better, Tee. I’m sorry Teddy couldn’t come to the
hospital with you. If he did, he couldn’t come home again
because he’d be full of bad polio germs.”
“Oh. But,
Larry’s not soft like Teddy.”
“Well, what if
I bring you something soft the next time I come?”
“Okay, Daddy.”
“I have to go
to work now, Tee. I’ll see you soon.”
Daddy came the
next morning again on his way to work.
“Hi, Tee,” said
Daddy. “I brought you a nice soft powder puff.”
“Oh, a pow
puff!”
“Oh, I forgot
that’s what you used to call them. Mommy sewed a ribbon to
it so we can tie it to your crib. That way it won’t fall on
the floor and get dirty.”
My pow puff was
a big soft ball of fluff, almost as soft as Teddy.
[I now realize that Dad had to drive a long distance
to visit me. We lived in
Making
Friends
The
boy in the crib next door popped up and knocked on the
glass.
“Hi,”
he said. “My name is Timmy. What’s yours?”
“My
name is Tee. How old are you?”
“I’m
five. How old are you?”
“I’m
four.”
“Are
you real sick?” asked Timmy.
“Yeah,
kinda. But I feel better now.”
“I’m
gettin’ better too.”
Timmy
and I could see each other real close ‘cause there just was
glass between us only.
Then
Timmy spit on the glass. A big, juicy gob of spit slid down
real slow. It stopped on the ledge at the bottom of the
glass.
“You
do it!” said Timmy.
“Okay.”
I spit. My spit wasn’t big like Timmy’s. But it slid down,
down, down the glass and stopped at the ledge.
“I’ll
race ya!” said Timmy.
“Okay,
I’ll race ya, too.” I stood on tiptoes to get as tall as
Timmy.
“One
¾
two ¾
three,” Timmy counted. And we both spit. Slowly Timmy’s spit
and my spit dribbled to the bottom.
“I
won!” said Timmy.
“Let’s
race again!” I said. “On your mark. Get set. Go!” We spit.
“I
won this time!” I said.
“Oh-oh, the nurse is coming.”
We
both scooched down real fast so she wouldn’t know we were
havin’ spit races.
The
nurse came into my room and felt my forehead.
“What’s
the girl’s name over there?” I asked, pointing across the
hall.
“That’s
Susan,” said the nurse. “She’s very sick.”
“Oh.
Who’s that boy over there?” I pointed to the room next to
Susan’s.
“That’s
Billy.”
“Oh.”
“Now
you know that you are never to get out of bed, Tee,” warned
the nurse. “You need to rest your muscles so they can get
better. No one should ever get out of bed.”
“Okay.”
Then
she left in a big hurry and made that wind I could feel like
the other nurse.
Across
the hall I could see Billy sitting up in bed lookin’ around,
so I waved at him. Billy waved back and said, “Hi.”
“I’m
tired of sittin’ in this bed,” grumbled Billy. “I’m goin’
for a walk.”
Timmy
and I chimed in together, “Don’t do it, Billy! It’s against
the rules! We’re s’posed to stay in bed.”
“I
don’t care. I’m gonna do it anyway. Just watch me!”
Billy
pulled back his covers and put both his bare feets on the
floor. He took two steps with his arms sticking out like he
was walking a tightrope.
“Hey,
Billy, the mop-lady is comin’!” I said. Billy hopped back in
bed quick as a bunny and pretended he wasn’t naughty.
I
liked the mop-lady. She gave me a ride in my crib so she
could mop behind it. Then I could see through the outside
window. I saw boys playing football across the street. When
the mop-lady was done, she didn’t put my crib back. She was
nice to me.
One
morning, when Daddy came to see me, he brought some bubble
stuff. It was real fun ‘cause you could make your own
balloons then chew ‘em like gum when they got old. He
brought some for Timmy too.
“Timmy,
do you know how to make bubbles with the bubble stuff?”
“No.
Whadaya do?”
“You
squeeze the tube and put a blob on the end of the straw.
Then you blow it up — like bubble gum. It smells funny,
sorta like window cleaner, but you’ll get used to it.” Timmy
got blue bubble stuff and I got green.
“Hey,
look. We can stick our balloons on the glass,” said Timmy.
“Yeah,
they stick.” Timmy and I spent a lot of time making bubbles
and decorating our window.
[The treatment for polio at that time was complete
bed rest with splinting or casting affected limbs in an
attempt to prevent deformity. This practice proved harmful
to polio victims because the immobility caused more muscle
atrophy and weakness than already may have been present.
Fortunately, none of my limbs were splinted.]
[I was spared the suffering that so many children
experienced: severe pain, paralysis and even an inability to
breathe without the assistance of an iron lung. The
poliovirus can paralyze chest muscles that facilitate
breathing, including the diaphragm. I was admitted to the
hospital on
Going
Home
When
Daddy came to take me home, I got to ride in a wheelchair to
Daddy’s car. After we got home, Daddy carried me from his
car right to my bed. My room looked sunny and happy to see
me. I was sure happy to see it.
“I got a drinking
bird!” I squealed. “It’s just like Dr. Ben’s. Look he’s
dunking his beak and drinking!”
My
bird looked sorta like a red ostrich with a top hat. He had
a long neck, a round head with a pointy beak, long legs and
a fat-round body with a fluffy feather for his tail. He
leaned over and stuck his beak in a glass of water to get a
drink. When he was finished drinking, his head came up and
bobbed back and forth for a while. Then he’d be real still,
‘til he got thirsty again. When he started to lean forward,
I knew he was gonna get another drink.
“Mommy,
why is Paul’s teddy bear in my room?”
“The
neighbors gave it to you because they thought it might have
polio germs. Remember you played with it the day before you
got sick?” said Mommy.
“So
I get to keep it?”
“Yes,
he’s yours now.”
I’m
going to make a chocolate malt for you. Would you like that,
Tee? Dr. Ben wants you to drink one every day.”
“Mmm,
yes, please!”
“Now
Tee, Dr. Ben wants you to stay in bed for three weeks,”
cautioned Mommy.
“Okay,
Mommy.”
But
I barely stayed in bed for three days. I didn’t feel sick
any more.
I
appeared to have no ill effects from the polio that struck
me down. Thanks to my progressive thinking pediatrician, Dr.
Rosenow’s vaccine and my parents’ trust in both of them, I
could run, skip and jump as well as any other four-year-old.
When my strength was tested about four years later, I
was told I had left side weakness. Even so, I never noticed
it or felt my left side to be different from my right.
However, as an adult, I began experiencing a lot of muscle
pain, which I simply explained away as too much gardening,
an injury, being pregnant or using a non-supportive chair at
work.
In
my mid-twenties, I attributed the spasms in my mid-back to
having been thrown off a horse at age 17 and carrying three
babies to term. My doctor ordered X-rays of my back, but
reported he could see no structural reason for my spasms. I
kept raising kids and singing in a band.
In
my mid-thirties, the muscles in my lower back seemed to lose
their elasticity. When I was bent over, scrubbing a floor or
weeding a flowerbed, I could not straighten into an upright
position without climbing up something, such as a chair or a
shovel. When arising to walk, after sitting for a half-hour
or so, I would remain in a stooped over position for several
steps, before I could stand erect. Nevertheless, I continued
my career at the insurance company, remodeling my house and
working in my garden.
In
my early forties, I was in a car accident that caused
whiplash and a strained left shoulder. Although I seemed to
recover from those injuries, a year later I couldn’t lean on
the wall across the tub with my left hand to turn on the
shower. I also could not turn my head without severe pain in
my left upper arm, shoulder and neck. My head tilted toward
my left shoulder and my left shoulder became higher than my
right. I suffered for years with debilitating spasms in my
neck, shoulder and upper arm. After a rough chiropractor
brought me to tears adjusting my neck, I resigned myself to
living with the pain, the high shoulder and the head tilt.
Still, I did not give up my volunteer work. I put my head
down and plowed through a sad divorce from my addicted and
fallen knight, raised three teenagers, and briefly held two
jobs to give them a Christmas. I also found a new career
when, instead of a promotion for doing a great deal of
specialized work for my company, my position was eliminated.
Gradually
I experienced more pain throughout my body and the sensation
that more than just my low back muscles were losing their
elasticity. If I wanted to change positions, my muscles
would only move slowly and grudgingly. I awoke frequently
because of the pain or the effort it took to just turn over.
The sleep I needed to heal became increasingly elusive.
I
wrote about my distressed sleep in 1998.
“When
Sleep Won’t Come”
Another
night in the popcorn popper,
First
on my back, then my right side.
Nope,
try the left.
Neck
stiff as week-old taffy,
I
sample all four pillows available for these special
occasions.
None
are right for scalp stretched tight as timpani skin.
For
a change I hear the end of my relaxation tape.
More
covers, less covers.
My
precious Prince Sleep fails me like a hard-to-please lover.
At
last he comes.
I
relax in his arms
For
one brief moment
Before
bird-chirping dawn.
My
neck became so immobile that it was painful to look right
and left when driving. My chronic stiff neck also
resulted in numerous headaches. My downward spiral of
chronic pain and fatigue continued.
In
my mid-forties, I read about a condition called
post-polio syndrome (PPS). PPS attacks people who contracted
polio when they were young, but who had seemingly recovered.
Could this be the name of my condition? I researched
symptoms that matched mine to a great extent. I found a
doctor at the Medical College of Wisconsin who could
diagnose PPS. However, since he was not in my health
insurer’s network, I could not afford the evaluation. My
insurance company told me that, if I could get an in-network
neurologist to diagnose PPS, and then refer me to the
The
nature of post-polio syndrome demands that a polio
specialist do the diagnosis, so the likelihood of my getting
an accurate evaluation was not good. As I feared, the
neurologist I saw did not have much knowledge of PPS. After
a painful exam, he deemed that I did not have PPS,
but only that something was wrong with my right
hip because he couldn’t bend my knee up to my
chest and out without my screaming ¾ an
inability I had explained to him prior to his exam. I left
his office crying tears of pain and frustration.
So
the door was closed on my pursuit of a diagnosis at the only
medical facility in my area known to be able to evaluate
PPS. Since I could not prove that I did, indeed, suffer from
this syndrome, I resigned myself to living with my condition
and learning, as best I could, how to treat my symptoms.
After
the punishment of two more corporate down-sizings, I wrote a
cookbook and started my own business, Spice of Life. I
taught healthy cooking to people who had health issues or
just wanted to have a tasty as well as nutritious diet. I
loved to cook and had learned how to eat well by helping
members of my family who had health challenges.
Sadly,
by my mid-fifties, I had to close Spice of Life because I
could no longer work. The pain in my neck, back and legs
overwhelmed me to the point of nausea. I was exhausted from
lack of sleep due to pain. I often experienced, what I
called, personal earthquakes. The room would suddenly spin
around me and I’d have to grab onto something or someone to
stay upright. The most frightening aspect of my symptoms was
my diminished brain function. I couldn’t remember what I did
yesterday or ten minutes ago. I was unable to concentrate,
had difficulty learning tasks and often felt confused and,
frankly, stupid.
My
husband, Tom, had to repeatedly teach me the sequence
required to start the lawn tractor. I was ashamed and angry
at my inability to do something so simple and frightened
that I might never get any better. I could no longer
understand the two technical manuals that I’d written, one
of which was considered the book to have in the
employee benefits industry. Too bad my royalties were lost
along with my last position.
At
age 57, a doctor and a neuromuscular massage therapist
diagnosed my pain, fatigue and brain fog as fibromyalgia. At
last my misery had a name! Fibromyalgia is described as producing
widespread
pain, disturbed sleep, and exhaustion from head to toe.
It causes pain in the muscles, ligaments, and tendons. There
is no cure for fibromyalgia, but there is treatment. I set
to work researching what I could do to feel better.
I
was declared disabled by the Department of Labor, which
entitled me to certain benefits, like job counseling to help
me determine my wage-earning capabilities. After a year of
massage therapy, pain medicine and rest, I was able to
return to work. The Department of Labor bought me a
supportive, well-padded and adjustable chair for my work
place. They also came to my office to provide ergonomics
coaching. Although the pain and fatigue have not left, they
are improved and easier to live with.
In
my mid-sixties, as I once again research post-polio syndrome
and record my polio experience, I wonder anew if PPS is the
cause of my muscles going into painful spasm or not
contracting after being stretched. After all, no one has a
definitive cause for fibromyalgia. However, having had polio
makes me a PPS candidate. Dr. E. C. Rosenow, the physician
and scientist, who developed the vaccine that saved me from
paralysis and possible death, also predicted PPS for those
who seemed to have recovered. Like fibromyalgia, doctors are
not sure why PPS exists or how to eliminate it. But if PPS
is what I have, I will once again research what I can do to
feel better.
Special
Thank You: I
would like to thank Dr. S. Hale Shakman, Director of the
When
I inquired about getting copies of a few pages from the
manual regarding Dr. Ben, I hoped for a response, but didn’t
expect one. I thought at best I might hear from a librarian
who would simply provide instructions on purchasing the
book. Instead, I got a heart-warming response as well as a
copy of the entire manual, from the author and director of
the
Dr.
Shakman said he was sincerely touched to hear from one of
the very polio survivors whose case he had studied. We have
developed an electronic friendship since that time and I am
most grateful that God put Dr. Shakman into my life to
enrich and bless it. Thank you “Dr. Dad.” May God bless your
life and gifts to the world.
POSTSCRIPT: And bless you and thank you Treva for
sharing your wonderful story. Stuart Hale Shakman
-posted at InstituteOfScience.com 8 April 2015
Email: mail@instituteofscience.com
